by Fiona Harper
THE wedding ceremony at Monta Correnti’s opulent courthouse was simple and moving. The way Jack Lewis looked at his new bride as he slid a ring on her finger brought a tear to almost every eye in the place. And then they were whisked away in limousines and a whole flurry of white-ribboned speedboats to Romano’s island for the rest of the celebrations. Jackie’s heart crept into her mouth and sat there, quivering, as the boat neared the stone jetty just below Romano’s over-the-top pink and white palazzo.
Only close friends and family had been at the courthouse. Now a much larger guest list was assembling for a religious blessing and reception in the palace and formal gardens of Isola del Raverno.
Jackie tried not to think about Romano, but the conversation she knew they must have the following day was looming over her.
Today wasn’t about that. Wasn’t about her. Her mother had been right, even if only accidentally. During the winding journey from Monta Correnti to Lake Adrina, she’d thought hard about her mother’s words. For as long as she’d been able to remember, even before she got pregnant with Kate, everything had been about her. Being a middle child, she’d felt she had to fight for every bit of attention, had learned to be territorial about absolutely everything, even though Lizzie and Scarlett hadn’t been treated as favourites in any way.
And she’d never let go of that need to be the hub of everything, of needing the adulation, position…supremacy.
Until she’d rediscovered her lost daughter, she hadn’t realised she’d had any of those sacrificial maternal feelings, hadn’t let herself remember what she’d buried deep inside. She hadn’t ever let herself feel those things, not even when she’d been carrying Kate. It had been easier to bear the idea of giving a piece of herself up if she imagined it to be nothing but a blob—a thing—not even a human being. Of course, all that clever thinking had fallen apart the moment Kate had come silently into the world, in the long moments when Jackie had been helpless on an operating table with doctors and midwives hurrying around and issuing coded instructions to each other. She’d felt as if her heart had stopped, but the monitor attached to her finger had called her a liar.
When Kate had finally let out a disgruntled wail, Jackie had begun to weep with relief, and then with loss. She hadn’t had the right to care about this baby that way. She’d decided to give that right away to someone else, someone who would do a better job.
And somebody else had done a better job. She didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse. Whichever way she’d thought about it, it hurt.
She’d caused all of it. All of this mess.
The boat hit the jetty and jolted her out of her dark thoughts. She grimaced to herself. So much for today not being all about her. She’d spent the ten-minute ride to the island submerged in self-pity.
Today is not the day, she told herself. You can do it tomorrow. You’ll tell Romano and then you’ll have plenty of reasons to feel sorry for yourself—and for him.
The wedding breakfast was held in the palazzo’s grand ballroom—the late count’s pride and joy. ‘Ostentatious’ didn’t begin to do it justice. There was gold leaf everywhere, ornate plasterwork on every available surface and long mirrors inserted into the panels on the walls at regular intervals. Totally over-the-top for casual dining, but perfect for an elegant wedding. Perfect for Lizzie’s wedding. And she looked so happy, sitting there with her Jack, alternately rubbing her rounded belly through the flowing dress and fiddling with the new gold ring on her left hand as she stared into his eyes.
Jackie tried to keep her mind on the celebrations, but all through the afternoon she would catch glimpses of Romano—talking to some other guests with a flute of champagne in one hand, or walking purposefully in the shadows, checking details—and it would railroad all her good intentions.
Perhaps it would be better if she just got it over and done with, went and sought him out. Then she wouldn’t be seeing him everywhere, smelling his woody aftershave, listening for his laugh. Every time her brain came up with a false-positive—when she’d thought she’d detected him, but hadn’t—her stomach rolled in protest. It brought back memories of morning sickness, this uncontrollable reaction her body was having. She pushed the heavy dessert in front of her away.
In the absence of dry crackers and tap water, what she really needed was some fresh air. She needed time on her own when she wasn’t expected to chit-chat and smile and nod. At the very least she owed it to her cheek muscles to give them a rest.
The meal was over, coffee had been served and the cake had been cut. Jack and Lizzie were making a round of the room, talking to the guests. No one would notice if she slipped out for a few moments. If anyone missed her, they’d just assume she’d gone to powder her nose.
But escape was harder than she’d anticipated. She was only a few steps from the double doors that led onto the large patio when her mother swept past, hooked her by the crook of her arm and steered her towards a huddle of people.
‘Rafe?’ her mother said.
Rafael Puccini looked very distinguished with his silver-grey hair, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit. Even though he must be a few years over sixty, he still had that legendary ‘something’ about him that made women flock to him. He turned and smiled as her mother herded her into their group, and she couldn’t help but smile back.
‘Jackie asked me a while ago about those sunglasses of yours…you know the ones.’ Her mother waved a hand and tried to give the impression she didn’t give a jot about the subject of their conversation.
Jackie didn’t react. Everyone knew that her mother had been Rafe Puccini’s muse back in the Sixties. His Lovely Lisa range of sunglasses were modern classics, and were still the best-selling design in the current range.
What had surprised her was her mother’s sudden mention of the glasses. She’d asked her—oh, months ago—about finding some vintage pairs for a feature for Gloss! Normally most of what she said to Mamma tended to go in one ear and out the other. If anything was retained, it usually had a wholly ‘Mamma’ slant to it, and was often completely inaccurate.
Rafe took her mother’s hand and kissed it. ‘Certainly I know which glasses you mean. How could I forget something inspired by those sparkling eyes?’
If Kate had been here, she’d have made gagging noises. Jackie wasn’t actually that far from it herself. She’d met Romano’s father many times before, of course, and had often seen him in full flirt mode, but never with her own mother. Lisa wagged a disciplinary finger at her old paramour, smiling all the while.
Well, she’d been fishing for a compliment and she’d hooked a good one. Why wouldn’t she be pleased?
Just as Jackie broached the possibility of buying or borrowing some of the vintage sunglasses, Romano materialised for real.
Fabulous. The last thing she needed was her eagle-eyed mother picking up on a stray bit of body language and working out there was some sort of undercurrent between her and Romano. Mamma was very good at that. That was why Jackie had such excellent posture. Being able to snap to attention, give nothing away, had been her best survival mechanism as a teenager. As for today, she was just going to have to extricate herself from this cosy little group and try and catch up with him on his own later.
That plan was also a little tricky to execute. Rafe and her mother greeted Romano and drew him into the conversation. Jackie had no choice but to stand and smile and hope against hope that Lizzie would send for her to fulfil some last-minute bridesmaid’s duty.
As the discussion turned towards hot new designers to watch, Jackie’s attention moved from the outrageous flirting on the part of the older generation to the interaction between father and son. She’d never thought of Romano as being particularly family-oriented. He didn’t have those heavy apron strings most Italians had to tie them to their families. But there was a clear bond between him and his father these days. Quick banter flowed easily between them, but it never descended into insults or coarseness. They both had the same mercurial tho
ught patterns, the same sense of humour.
Jackie became suddenly very conscious of the lack of even polite conversation between her and her mother. They didn’t know how to relate to each other without all their defences up, and the realisation made her very sad.
If only she could work out how Romano and his father did it, she might be able to analyse and unpick it, work out how to reproduce it with Kate.
The need to have more than an awkward truce with her daughter hit her like a sledgehammer. She was so tense around Kate, even though she tried not to be. But the knowledge that she’d failed her daughter pounded in her head during their every meeting, raising the stakes and making her rehearse and second-guess everything she said and did. And the feeling that it was all slipping through her fingers just added to the sense of desperation every time they were together. And the more desperate she got, the harder it seemed to be natural.
She wanted her daughter to like her. Needed her daughter to like her. Maybe even love her one day.
Sudden jabs of emotion like this had been coming thick and fast since she’d reconnected with Kate and, to be frank, she was feeling more than a little bruised by all the pummelling she was giving herself. She’d never had to keep such a lid on herself, do so much damage control to keep the illusion of omnipotence in place.
She made sure none of her inner turmoil showed on her face, pulled in some air and slowly let it out again without making a sound.
Back in the here-and-now, she joined the conversation again, but even that was difficult. She could feel Romano watching her. She tried not to look at him, tried to let her eyes go blurry and out of focus if she needed to glance in his direction, but it was as successful as trying not to scratch a mosquito bite. Eventually she had to give in, and the more she did it, the more she needed to do it again.
Even when she managed a few moments of victory and maintained eye contact with Rafe or her mother, she could sense his gaze locking onto her, pulling her. Her skin began to warm. The outsides of her bare arms began to tingle.
She made the mistake of glancing at him for the hundredth time and, instead of the warm sparkle of humour in his eyes, they were smouldering. Her mouth stuck to itself.
How stupid she’d been to think she’d been safe from that look, that the delicate friendship they’d been threading together had wiped it from existence. It hadn’t diluted its power one bit. Romano wasn’t looking at her like a friend. He was looking at her as if he wanted to…
No. She wasn’t going to go there.
One problem with that, though: she wasn’t sure that she wasn’t returning that look, measure for measure.
It was just as well he’d decided that today was the day he was going to make his move. The way Jackie looked in that dress—his dress—made it impossible to wait any longer.
When he’d first spotted her walking through the gardens with the rest of the bridal party, he’d actually held his breath. It looked perfect on her. Exactly as he’d imagined it would when it had been nothing more than a fleeting image in his head and a quick sketch on the page. Exactly the same, but at the same time so much more.
She brought life to his design, made it move, made it breathe.
Of course he’d seen hundreds of his ideas translated into fabric and stitching before, but not one had had this impact on him. Not one. It was more than just the fit. Jackie’s dress—the romantic bodice, the gently flaring chiffon skirts—brought out a side of her he’d thought she’d lost.
Jacqueline Patterson, Miss Editor-in-chief, was attractive in a slick, controlled kind of way, but now…now she was all curves and softness. So feminine. From the coiled hair at the back of her head with the soft ringlets framing her face, to the tips of her satin sandals. All woman.
His woman.
That thought snapped him back to the present pretty fast, to the conversation his father and Lisa and Jackie were having about sunglasses.
Hmm. He’d never had the desire to own the women who wore his creations before, or the women who flitted through his life. They were on loan—as was he. Nothing permanent. Nothing suffocating. Nothing…meaningful.
Must be an echo. Of things he’d felt long ago. Maybe once he’d dreamed of having and holding for ever. But he’d been so young. Naive. And he knew Jackie well enough to know she was far too independent to be anyone’s trophy. She’d always been that way. Seventeen years ago he hadn’t been worthy of that prize, and she’d let him know in no uncertain terms. Just as well he wasn’t interested in that this time around.
And, with his current agenda fresh in his mind, he immersed himself again in the conversation that had been flowing round him.
It was time. The fact he was letting his imagination run away with him only served to highlight how bright his desire for her was. But he still needed to act with finesse, with respect and patience. It was that instinct that had kept him hovering on the fringes of the wedding celebrations, holding back until he felt in control of himself, be close to her without dragging her into the garden.
His father turned to Jackie. ‘Ah, your glass is empty, my dear. Let us find you another.’
Before Jackie could answer her mother piped up, mentioning the need to have a stiff word with the head waiter, and their parents disappeared with a nod to say they’d be back in only a few moments.
Jackie smiled at him. Actually smiled. And it was real—not that perfect imitation she normally did. Once again he felt a tug deep inside him. Not yet, he told himself. Running headlong into this will only get you kicked in the teeth, and you will walk away with nothing. Play this right and you’ll have a summer affair hot enough to give you your own private heatwave.
‘He’s quite something, your father, isn’t he?’ she said with an affectionate glance over her shoulder. ‘I was too young and too in awe of him when I used to serve you at Sorella to realise what a charmer he is.’
He smiled back, carefully, tactically. ‘I don’t think that’s stopping your mother from falling for it again.’
‘Now that’s a scary thought.’ She looked behind her again to where her mother was tearing strips off one of the catering staff, while his father smoothed any ruffled feathers with a smile and a wink. It was an odd kind of teamwork, but strangely effective.
Jackie took a long look at their parents, then turned to look at him. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you think history will repeat itself?’
A sudden burst of heat filled his belly. He didn’t glance over at their parents, but kept his gaze concentrated on Jackie. ‘I’m counting on it,’ he said, his voice coming out all rough and gravelly.
Jackie, being Jackie, wasn’t swept away by one simmering look and loaded comment, but she laughed gently. He took it as a point scored.
‘I see he has taught you all of his tricks,’ she said.
Although he was tempted to laugh with her, he moulded his facial muscles into a look of mock-seriousness. ‘Oh, I think the old dog has had a bit of an education from me too.’
She laughed again. ‘You’re incorrigible.’
Now he flashed her a smile, timing it to perfection. ‘So I’ve been told. Come on.’ He looked towards the open doors, only a few feet away, that led onto the terrace ‘Andiamo!’
Jackie followed his gaze and then they were both moving, both picking up speed and heading for the delicious coolness of the shady edges of the garden. He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter’s tray as they made their escape, and it struck him that he hadn’t needed to drag her to get her to go outside with him after all. They hadn’t even touched.
Not yet, anyway.
This is ridiculous, Jackie thought, as she ignored the pain on the balls of her feet and jogged in her high heels. They fled across the terrace, out of the view of the wedding guests inside the grand dining room and down a shady path. Romano was so close behind her she could hear his breath, practically feel it in the little ringlets at the nape of her neck.
When they’d reached relative safety, bey
ond a curve in the path, she gave in to the nagging fire in her feet and stopped. Romano just grinned at her and handed her a glass of champagne.
‘You hardly spilled a drop! That’s an impressive skill.’
Romano took a step closer. ‘Oh, you have no idea of the skills I’ve picked up since we were last together.’
A slight rumble in his voice caused her to flush hot and cold all over. Just the thought that Romano might be better at some things—other things—was not good for her equilibrium. She steadied herself on the wooden rail that followed the path downhill and looked out to where the lake was sparkling at them through the trees.
What are you doing? You can’t behave like this. Not with Romano. Not now. Not ever.
She closed her eyes briefly, took a sip of champagne and opened them again. How could she have let herself start thinking this way, feeling this way? Her daughter’s whole happiness hung in the balance and she’d forgotten all about that, had been too busy being selfish, letting herself relive the unique buzz of attraction that still hummed between her and the man standing just a few short steps away.
She decided to start walking again, because standing there in the shadowy silence, feeling his gaze resting softly on her, was somehow too intimate. She had to break this strange feeling that had encapsulated her. It was as if she and Romano were trapped in a bubble together, with the rest of the world far, far away. She had to find a way to pop it before she did something stupid.
Her stiletto would be perfect. She took a step away from him, hoping that the heel of her shoe would be sharp enough to cut through the surface tension and let reality flood back in. He followed her and, if anything, the skin surrounding them, joining them, just bounced back and thickened.
She kept walking and didn’t stop until she’d realised her subconscious had led her to the one place on the island that she’d really wanted to avoid.
The sunken garden was as beautiful as it had always been, full of ferns, some dark and woody, some small and delicate in a shade of pale greenish-yellow that was almost fluorescent. There was something timeless about this garden. The memory of the dark, waxy ivy that had worked its way up and around every feature was still fresh in her mind. The grotto still beckoned silently, promising secrecy and shelter in its cocoon-like depths.
